


I Can Fix That

by roaroftheninth



Category: Holes - Louis Sachar, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nineteenth Century, Old West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roaroftheninth/pseuds/roaroftheninth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a small frontier town, Louis teaches in a one-room school house and Harry sells onions off the back of a wagon. When Louis needs some help repairing the old school house, Harry's only too happy to lend a hand. </p><p>(Loosely based on the Sam-Kate storyline from Holes by Louis Sachar, but with a happy ending.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Fix That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coyotebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coyotebee/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [I Can Fix That](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002312) by [Mario](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mario/pseuds/Mario)



> You don't have to have read Holes by Louis Sachar to read this story, but if you have, you'll recognize the plot. :) I did leave this version with a happy ending, though, because I'm not always a sucker for punishment and the original plotline ends in a really star-crossed, tragic way.
> 
> Now available as a [podfic!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6827734) Thank you, adistantsun!

 

He's always been Harry the Onion Man, or he has for as long as Louis has known him.

 

He rolls through town on sunny days on a wagon pulled by a donkey that by rights should've probably been dead years ago, but any time anyone tells him that, Harry flashes that sunny grin and explains that Mary Lou lives on onions, and onions are Mother Nature's magic vegetable. That's about the crux of Harry's sales pitch right there; he sells onions straight up, sure, but he also sells ointments and elixirs and spices and anything else a person could conceivably make from an onion, and the best part is that people _trust_ him. Sure, they go to the doctor for what ails them, but just to play it safe, they also visit Harry for one of his onion remedies. Either the medicine or the onions do the trick, but no one can ever really tell which was which so Harry does a roaring trade.

 

He gets his onions from his secret patch across the lake, he tells everyone, where the water runs _uphill_. _  
_

 

He's not a con-man, though. Harry trusts and believes in his onions; is sincere in his belief that they help people. You can see it in his face.

 

It's stupidly endearing.

 

Louis lingers outside the schoolhouse some days as the children spill out the doors and run along home. Part of the reason why Harry's so successful, Louis is sure, is because Harry has never met a soul he couldn't charm. He tosses back his head and laughs when the Sheriff cracks a joke, and smiles, eyes sparkling, when he compliments the Sheriff's wife on her new bonnet. Harry's never courted any of the young ladies in town, but it's not for a lack of offers. Sometimes, when someone's daughter or wife leans in a little too close or laughs a little too loudly, Harry searches out Louis by the school house and turns that sunny grin on him, like they share some kind of secret.

 

Louis smiles back, helplessly.

 

Louis is sitting at his desk one evening in late spring, grading assignments by his small crew of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. It's pouring rain outside, but it's cozy in the schoolhouse with just a few lamps lit. He's so caught up in it that he doesn't even notice he's not alone until someone raps softly on the doorframe. 

 

Louis looks up, lips parted in surprise.

 

"I didn't meant to startle you," says Harry the Onion Man. He's got his hat in his hands, lower lip caught between his teeth, but he's smiling in a strange, soft way that makes Louis' heart do a funny little flip.

 

"Well, you did startle me," Louis tells him imperiously, setting his pen down. "But luckily, I forgive you."

 

Harry's smile doesn't go away. "I was wondering - everyone says you grow the best carrots in the county."

 

"Not to be vain," Louis says, "but it's true, I'm a terrific grower of carrots. I've got it down to a science."

 

Harry's smile widens. "Have you?"

 

Louis nods. "I have," he replies, very seriously. "Two parts dirt, one part sunlight, one part water. Oh, and I go out and talk to them at night. Obviously."

 

"You read them bedtime stories," Harry says, apparently delighted.

 

"No, I tell them about the state of the economy."

 

Harry laughs. "Excellent, because I only eat educated carrots."

 

"Me as well," Louis agrees. "Who wants a daft carrot?"

 

"Definitely not me." Harry toys with the brim of his hat. "Could I possibly trouble you for some of your carrots, the next time I'm in town?"

 

"Are you going to pay me in onions?" Louis asks, good-humoured.

 

"I could," Harry says, sincerely. "Or..." His eyes travel over to the bucket next to Louis' desk, the one he'd dumped out fifteen minutes ago and is slowly but surely filling up again. He nods at it. "I can fix that."

 

"The bucket's not broken," Louis says, very seriously. "Don't malign my bucket. How very dare you."

 

"I'm sure the bucket's a gentleman among buckets," Harry replies, with equal seriousness. "But I think the roof may leak a bit."

 

Louis glances up at the steady drip-drip of water coming from the dark stain in the old woodwork. "It might."

 

Harry glances up, too. "I can fix that," he repeats.

 

He's back the very next afternoon, and fix it, he does.

 

\--

 

Harry's still up on the roof in the late afternoon, after the children have gone home. Louis comes to stand under him at one point, looking up. Harry's torn that entire section of the roof almost completely away, replacing it with fresh wood that he fits together so that it doesn't leave a single seam for water to leak through.

 

"Seems like a big job," Louis comments.

 

Harry's face appears in one of the holes. "The wood was just warped. It's an old building. I'll have it right as rain, though."

 

He continues to work even as Louis returns to his desk.

 

"Mr. Tomlinson," Harry says presently.

 

"Louis," the teacher corrects at once.

 

"Louis," repeats Harry, and there's warmth in his voice. "If you're not too busy, you could read to me."

 

Louis is a little surprised, though he doesn't say anything. "What do you like to read?"

 

There's the muffled sound of Harry moving something on the roof. "I can't read," he replies, cheerfully enough. "I like to listen to other people do it, though."

 

Louis rifles through his desk, looking for something short. The first thing he finds is a thin volume of poetry that his mum got him when he became a teacher.

 

"Do you like poetry?" He asks.

 

Harry's face appears between the beams again. Louis tries not to find it sweet that his curls have somehow worked themselves into a mad tangle. "Do you have Annabel Lee?"

 

Louis leans back in his chair, impressed. "You know Edgar Allan Poe?"

 

" _I was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea_ ," Harry recites. He grins. "My gran used to read to me."

 

"Well, then, Harry the Onion Man, secret poetry aficionado." Louis flips open his poetry book. "I present to you Annabel Lee, by Edgar Allan Poe."

 

"What's an aficionado?" Harry interrupts.

 

"Erm - someone who enthusiastically appreciates something," Louis tries.

 

Harry beams. "An aficionado."

 

He disappears from the hole in the beams for a moment. "Can you be an aficionado about anything?" He calls.

 

Louis shrugs. "I suppose."

 

"Like a person?" Harry specifies.

 

Louis grins up at the roof. "Are you an aficionado of any person in particular, Harry the Onion Man?"

 

There's a brief silence. Harry sounds mischievous when he says, "I might be. A bit."

 

Louis can't help the tiny tug of jealousy under his heart. "Who?"

 

"Are you going to read me my poem or am I going to fall asleep from boredom and fall off the roof?"

 

"Am I that terrible at conversation?" Louis asks, his indignance mostly teasing.

 

"No, you're lovely." Harry sounds fond. "Read now, will you?"

 

They spend the rest of the afternoon reading and talking about poetry, and the subsequent two afternoons as well. Louis doesn't get any marking done, but Harry finishes fixing the roof.

 

\--

 

Harry returns for his carrots on the fourth day. Louis hands him a bushel of them, which Harry gratefully accepts. He does not, however, turn around and walk away.

 

"You know," Louis says, conversationally. "That window's never opened properly. It gets awfully hot in here in June."

 

Harry beams at him. "I can fix that."

 

He does.

 

\--

 

Harry's very good at fixing just about anything, Louis' discovered. After the window opens and closes like a charm, Louis has Harry repair some of the desks that are lopsided or squeaky, including his own. He has Harry fix the broken step out front, and re-hang the front door. He even borrows some money from the county to purchase paint, and has Harry paint the inside of the school house. Harry has to get up on a stool to reach the highest corners, his shirt riding up. Louis doesn't look.

 

No matter what Louis asks him to do, Harry always just smiles and says, like they've got a secret: "I can fix that."

 

And he always does.

 

About halfway through, Louis determines that Harry must have more carrots now than he knows what to do with, and they strike a new bargain: In exchange for his repair work, Louis will teach him how to read. The idea makes Harry's face light up completely, and when they sit down at the end of each day to do it for half an hour or so before Harry has to row back across the lake, Harry is more enthusiastic than the rest of Louis' pupils combined. It's a little painful, to watch Harry devour books written for children like they're high literature, because Harry /loves/ it, would probably be excited about reading a legal notice or an instruction manual, and Louis is a little annoyed with the world that no one taught Harry how to do this ages ago.

 

If part of the reason why Louis likes their private lessons is that Harry sits close enough that their knees touch and their elbows brush, well, no one has to know.

 

Finally, though, the day comes when the school house is in perfect, tip-top condition, and Louis can think of literally nothing else for Harry to fix. He's brushing chalk off the board when he hears Harry come in behind him, but Louis doesn't turn around. He's always been prone to moods, and today he thinks he's entitled, because he's grown to like Harry a _lot_ and now there's no reason for them to spend time together anymore. (It's childish, but Louis doesn't care.)

 

"Louis," Harry says quietly, having come up right behind him and stopped, maybe three or four paces away.

 

"I'm busy," Louis says abruptly.

 

"Lou."

 

"Harry, I don't - " Louis turns around, and the look on Harry's face startles him into silence.

 

"What's wrong?" Harry asks.

 

Louis' fingers curl into loose fists. He thinks of Edgar Allan Poe. _But a waking dream of life and light, hath left me broken-hearted._ "I think," he begins, and this is hard, isn't it? "I think maybe my heart's a bit - a bit broken."

 

He's startled to realize that it's _true._ He hadn't imagined it could be until he said it aloud.

 

Harry reaches out and curls a hand over the back of Louis' neck. It makes Louis stiffen; it's the closest contact they've ever had. "I can fix that," Harry promises earnestly.

 

And then he pulls Louis in for a kiss, and he _does_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [adistantsun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adistantsun/pseuds/adistantsun) Log in to view. 




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